


Sleep While I Slip Poison in Your Ear

by Froggimus_Rex



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Parent/Child Incest, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Behavior, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 07:31:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18988099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggimus_Rex/pseuds/Froggimus_Rex
Summary: While waiting for the eclipse, Shadow Weaver takes matters into her own hands.





	Sleep While I Slip Poison in Your Ear

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Paris Is Burning_ by St. Vincent

The scene in the lunarium could not have gone more perfectly if Shadow Weaver had been playing all the parts.

It had been the sacrifice of the crystals, or rather the reaction of this latest fool who played tricks with light and called it wisdom to their destruction, that had done it. Adora may have temporarily slipped her leash, but she couldn't unlearn lessons Shadow Weaver had spent a lifetime teaching as easily, and nothing brought her more effectively to heel than seeing another bear the brunt of her mistakes and misdeeds. Coiling a thin thread of awareness around Adora like twine around an errant child's wrist as the boy had led her off, she lingered a while, focused on the argument taking place in the antechamber. There was still enough time remaining before the eclipse that if Angella's brat succeeded in placating her simpleton of an aunt too quickly, she'd have an unwelcome opportunity to loosen screws that had been tightened so beautifully. 

She needn't have worried, it appeared that while the sister had a passable measure of the brother's skill, any sign of his wit was sorely lacking. It was fortunate in its way, Micah might not only have believed the brat, but also Adora, and all her efforts would've been for naught.

As she watched a familiar argument unfold with unfamiliar players, Shadow Weaver considered, not for the first time since they'd begun tracking Adora, the regrettable limitations of her shadow spies. That the constant trade-off between form and substance meant a convincing enough ruse with the one left barely enough of the other to turn a doorknob. Otherwise, Angella's brat and her painfully transparent crush could have served a valuable purpose in teaching Adora a harsh but necessary lesson in the motives that lay behind soft smiles and the appearance of kindness. Though maybe it still could be of use, when Adora was once more in the Fright Zone, and she had more tools at her disposal.

A faint pulling came from that thread of self binding Adora to her, and leaving the fruitless argument behind to grind its way ever on, she followed that tug, standing over over Adora's bed with a speed of thought. There were good reasons that Shadow Weaver rarely merged her mind this thoroughly with one of her shadow spies, all too aware of how vulnerable it left her true body, especially now when she had only Catra's dubious efforts to rely on to guard it. Still, there was an exhilaration in embodying a form so truly other, experiencing the world through alien senses as well as her own, the power of knowing there was no barrier impenetrable enough to keep her from what she wanted. After all, nowhere could be bright enough to keep _every_ shadow out, and as she'd just been reminded, Mystacor was hardly home to the brightest of lights. Not these days.

Fading into the darkness, Shadow Weaver contemplated the sight before her. Eyes screwed shut, bedclothes rumpled and askew from fitful tossing and turning, Adora was trying to sleep. Something she couldn't permit. Sleep brought clarity, and much as it pained her to see her looking so drawn and pallid, skin under her eyes so darkened they looked bruised, coddling the child would only let the roots of defiance sink in deeper at a time they needed to be weeded out for her own good. 

There were, however, other options. Altering a mind was a delicate and risky task, trapping one between wakefulness and sleep, unable to reach either rest or awareness, was child's play.

Spell in place, she reached down to brush Adora's loose, messy fringe back into place, shadowy tendrils stroking along her cheek as she cringed and whimpered in her sleep. Her hand drifted down Adora's back, gaining fingers and losing definition as she traced the outline of where the Horde's brand should have been on her shirt. That was problematic. Not the loss of the symbol itself, she'd never cared to have Hordak's mark on what belonged to her, but Adora rejecting it was another sign of wilfulness that needed to be curbed. Her form slid more fully onto the bed, pooling on top of the sheets and against Adora's legs. She pulled away with a mumbled request that Catra stop stealing the blankets.

With a sudden fury, Shadow Weaver pulled back into her own shape, hand gripping Adora's arm tightly enough it would have woken her without the spell keeping her out. As it was she curled in even tighter on herself. 

_That_. 

She'd let it slide in the past, even though it was spoiling both girls, no longer. She wasn't unreasonable, recent failures notwithstanding, Catra was far too effective a tool for checking Adora's behaviour to keep them completely separated, but it was past due for them to learn that some indulgences were only allowed at her pleasure.

And there were pleasures that she'd refrained from for far too long. She relaxed her grip, fingers dissolving into formless wisps that sank through fabric, slowly bleeding over skin, what passed for her other hand traced the outline of Adora's jaw, brushed over her grimacing lips. When she'd first realised the half-feral child, only manageable with a leash made of fear twisted around affection, only worth the effort for the hum of untapped, unnamed power under her skin, turned gangly, eager-to-please teen, had blossomed into a young woman, ripe despite a lingering, unfinished coltishness, she'd chosen to wait, resigned, though not content. Pushing too far, too fast had cost her previously. Better to play the long game, groom and guide rather than force the issue.

What she hadn't, and should have, considered was just how far Catra's lack of impulse control extended.

The wretched girl's inability to keep either her lust or hands to herself had ruined everything, and while she'd put a stop to that business, assuring herself that Adora was properly compliant, the damage had been done. What should have been a prize coaxed forth by experienced hands introducing the pleasures of the flesh in a setting worthy of it was instead snatched away and pawed at by a fumbling teen groping and rutting in a grimy bunk.

Fueled by another burst of anger, the mass of shadows that had been spreading up Adora's shoulder, under her clothing, shoved against it, rolling her onto her back, pressing her down. She would not be denied what was rightfully hers a second time. Like a dam bursting, darkness surged over her skin, tendrils forking and branching as they flowed over the topology of her form, lapping at the peaks of her breasts, pooling in the hollows of her belly. She'd never even considered this in her thwarted plans, but Shadow Weaver found it intoxicating nonetheless. It may have lacked the raw immediacy of skin on skin, five senses reduced to three, but every inch of her being, formless but for the suggestion of a head and shoulders looming above Adora's, every touch was felt with the sensitivity of fingertips, lips, a cunt. 

The girl's legs were still pulled up tightly against her, a stubbornness that even sleeping might have held up to a knee shoving between her thighs, but Shadow Weaver was beyond such crude and petty tactics. The merest wisp was all she needed. Once that gained purchase, a simple thought had that wisp thicken and grow, splitting into multiple tendrils that wrapped around her limbs, pulling and pushing until Adora lay open and exposed for her. 

Even though neither the thick fabric of Adora's trousers or the flimsier stuff of her drawers posed any real barrier to her, Shadow Weaver longed to tear the clothes from her body, leave her truly exposed, aware that there was nothing she could hide from her, no part Shadow Weaver couldn't possess, but that would show her hand too soon, risk steadying the girl's mind when she wanted it unbalanced, ready to tip over with the right push. Besides there would be time enough for every lesson Adora needed to be taught, about Catra, about Angella's brat, about herself, once she was back where she belonged, with her. Right now, Shadow Weaver cared about _wants_ , not needs.

At the first tentative touch of shadow to the sensitive flesh of the girl's cunt, Adora jackknifed off the bed, limbs thrashing and flailing. Shadow Weaver was inclined to let her, entwined around her like a second skin, she could no more throw her off than she could fight her way up to consciousness, but the child was also crying out, and it just wouldn't do for anyone to her and interrupt. So instead she bent her semblance of a face down to Adora's, a fine, dark mist flowing out to cover her mouth and nose, only retreating when her struggles slackened, letting the child take great gasping breaths, then advancing once more before she could start sobbing again. All the while she kept working the girl's cunt, light teasing probes to tighten the little bud of her clit, loosen her up. She didn't truly need too, could just slip inside with nothing to smooth or ease her way, but there was little joy in a hard, dry fuck, only power.

But there was power in this too, especially when Adora's body was so wonderfully responsive, though she shouldn't have expected anything else, not when she'd somehow been able to derive pleasure from even Catra's careless, ignorant touch. Soon enough, the child was wet and slick with need, the soft, soaked flesh of her cunt yielding before the insistent press of her shadow-self, tendrils thick and undulating as they filled her. When she let her breathe, mass of twisting, hair-fine shadows instead caressing tear-stained cheeks, her pleading, begging sobs became increasingly broken and breathy as Shadow Weaver pushed her ever further, just as she had in all other aspects of her life, to her limits and beyond.

For all its sensuality, this form couldn't be satiated like a physical body, and she came dangerously close to losing track of time as she sought to wring every scrap of pleasure from Adora, now too spent and wracked to fight or protest as Shadow Weaver's touch brought her yet again to the edge of climax. But she'd long ago internalised the movements of the moons, and she would not risk letting Adora slip from her grasp for the sake of a few moments more of gratification. Not that she didn't feel some sense of reluctance as she disentwined herself from the girl, who curled in on herself, shoulders shaking, some desire for one last thrust between her legs, one more pinch of her nipples, swollen and dark, having to remind herself as she stroked Adora's forehead one final time, unpicking the threads of the spell, that this was but a taste of the true feast that awaited in a scant few hours when Adora was back where she belonged. Before that though, she needed to give the girl a good, solid push to ensure she was where she wanted her while she took care of those fools in the lunarium.

And if she removed any inconvenient attachment to Angella's brat in the process, all the better.


End file.
